New Alliances
by Auldearn
Summary: Takes place during Lethal Weapon 1 - character thoughts, scenes from the movie and from my imagination
1. Chapter 1

Slowly but surely dumping more of my stories on here. I think having them up here may help motivate me to continue as I really do want to finish them. This story consists of character thoughts, scenes from the movie, scenes from my imagination, ... Hope you enjoy - reviews are lovely!

* * *

_**December 14; 1:45am**_

Goddamn it all…

Here it was… one forty-five in the morning and I'd just been kicked out of the bar. Not just any bar either, but Jake's, my favorite dive out of all the shitty dives I call home. I love the place. It never closes and the owner Jake, always lets me sit in the back booth while doing his best to keep the other barflies from bothering me. He always has the booze flowing, never cuts me off, never asks questions and at the end of the night willingly picks me up off the floor and puts me into the waiting taxi.

Now it looked like I was gonna have to find a new place to go to… Goddamn it all…

I know I couldn't blame Jake. After all, out of the last six nights, I've gotten into fights on four of them. All the previous ones were over so quickly, Jake didn't even bother to say anything. Even completely shit-faced, I am able to end a fight before it really begins. Tonight was really no different. Two assholes trying to shake me down, but then they decided to take it up a notch by pulling a blade on me… Now THAT just pissed me off. The one guy got off easy with a few cracked ribs and a headbutt… but the other one… I purposely snapped his arm at the elbow against the joint for maximum damage. I smiled grimly. That arm would never be right again. But hey, like they say… live by the sword, die by the sword. And I HAD tried to warn them.

Really Jake was good about it. In another day or two, I knew I could wander back in and it would be like it never happened. That's the way it always was. Jake knows I'm a cop and just lets me go to cool off and he wouldn't call the authorities, which was a good thing. I knew that the department was already keeping a close-eye on me and if they ever got wind of my extracurricular activities, my career and life would be over. Luckily I have always been good at stealthy maneuvering when needed. It was a talent that was currently serving me well.

But despite having to leave my favorite joint early, the night wasn't a total loss. After all… as I left, Jake did give me a fresh bottle of Jack Daniels on the house. Driving with my knees, I grabbed the nearby bottle, quickly cracking open the seal, and took a swig. I loved how it burned my throat on the way down – made me know that it was up to the job of getting me drunk.

After taking another long swallow, I twisted the cap back on and tried to figure out my next move. Considering that it was almost two in the morning and I had to be on-duty by seven-thirty, I realized, of course, I should just head back home. The very thought made my gut knot up so much; I knew that that was not an option… not yet anyway. Instead I turned down another side street, driving carefully, eyes peeled out for any patrol units as I judged the various waterholes lining the area. It wasn't as easy as one might think for me to find a spot I was comfortable getting drunk in. First off, of course, I had to avoid all the cop hang-outs. I had no desire to be near any of the hot nightclubs with their loud music and coked out partiers… No, what I needed were the shit-holes, but even then I had to be careful. The patronage at those places tended to be very suspicious of newcomers, even ones that looked the way I did. And being suspicious made them have a tendency to test your boundaries, find out what you were all about… which meant often times, a fight. And then that could put me right back in the same situation I had found myself in at Jake's. And at a new place there was always the possibility of cops being called… No, I needed something shitty but discreet. A place where everyone was there for the unified goal of getting drunk while being left alone in peace and quiet.

And hopefully a place without any goddamn Christmas decorations…

* * *

_**December 15; 7:38pm**_

I looked down at my watch with a sigh; so much for that promise I had made to Trish about being home early today for my birthday dinner. But considering the circumstances, I knew she would be understanding – she almost always was. Making my way down the hallway, I opened the door, my brow wrinkling deeply as I entered into the morgue. Twenty years on the force and I still could not get used to that smell – made me want to gag every time. The medical examiner looked up from where he had been placing the tools of his trade on the small table. "Sergeant Murtaugh," he said, his voice slightly surprised. "What can I do for you?"

"Good evening, Dr. Hernandez. I – I was just wanting to check on Amanda Hunsacker."

"Hunsacker?" He picked up a nearby file, flipping through it. "I thought she was a suicide."

"She is… It's just … Well, her father was an old friend of mine."

"Damn. Sorry, Sarg."

I shrugged. "It's okay. It was a long time ago."

Dr. Hernandez pointed to a nearby sheeted figure. "That's her. I'm about to start right now, as a matter of fact." He gave a small smile as he wheeled his tools over to the body. "I'll be sure to let you know right away if there is anything unusual."

"Thanks… appreciate that." Although I don't know why, I found myself reaching out to pull the sheet back away from her face. Considering the fall that she had taken, Amanda's body was in remarkable condition. She had landed on her back and her face was unmarked from her final journey. All the same, she looked nothing like she was asleep. I gave a sigh. They never did. I pulled the sheet back over her.

"Have a good evening, Doctor," I said on my way out the door.

Back at my desk, I gathered up my stuff but stopped suddenly as my eye caught the photograph that I had snagged from Amanda's condo. It was of me and her father, back in 1965 before we were about to be shipped off. Although we had lost touch a long time ago, it had still been hard to call him with the news of his daughter's death. And even harder to listen to the sound of his voice as he tried to take in the information. Staring at it another minute, I slipped the photo into my coat pocket and headed home.


	2. Chapter 2

_**December 16; 7:58am**_

"This is a joke, right?"

"Do I look like I'm joking, Riggs?"

I just glared back at Murphy. "This is the dumbest thing I've heard. I'm the best cop in Narcotics. Why, with everything we have going on, would they pull me for some shit detail over in Homicide. I don't want to go to Homicide - I don't give a shit about Homicide. I need to keep working the cases I'm on." I puffed furiously on my cigarette. "Does this have to do with the sniper yesterday? SWAT pissed off because I got to the guy before their clowns could?"

Captain Murphy's eyebrows raised high. "Are you kidding? No… SWAT is not pissed off at you. In fact, Gannon was just here this morning, begging for me to convince you to transfer. "Murphy gave a half-smile. "Just like he does every year…" The captain frowned slightly as he took a swig of coffee. "Honestly, Riggs, I don't know why you stay in Narcotics anyway. With your background and training, you're a natural for SWAT."

I just shrugged. "I have my reasons."

"Yes, I suppose you do." Leaning over, Murphy held a piece of paper out for me. "Here's the info. You need to see Sergeant Roger Murtaugh in Robbery/Homicide ASAP." I reached out, crumpling up the sheet as I shoved it into the pocket of my jacket. If I had known that this morning was going to turn out this way, I would have gotten even more drunk last night than I did. I suddenly noticed a peculiar look come over the captain's face as he glanced behind me. He quickly focused his attention back to the piles of folders on his desk, rearranging them with a nervous energy. "Uhmm… okay, Riggs. That's it – now get the hell out of my office. I've got a meeting."

Shifting in my chair, I looked over my shoulder to see Dr. Woods standing off to one side of the corridor, a thick file in her hand. The sensation of seeing her felt like a punch in the gut and it pissed me off to no end that she had such an effect on me. I quickly focused my gaze back to my commanding officer. "With her? Your meeting is with her?"

Captain Murphy did his best to look irritated. "Riggs, my meeting schedule is none of your business."

"Just tell me you're not meeting with her!" But by the expression on Murphy's face, I knew that was exactly who he was meeting with. And I immediately knew as well that it was no coincidence that on the same morning, I had, for all intents and purposes, been yanked from regular duty. I tried my best to fight off my mounting anger and panic, but it felt like I was being sucked down into a gigantic whirlpool and I couldn't breathe anymore. "You can't d—"

"Shut up, Riggs!" growled Murphy in a low voice as he leaned over the desktop. "Believe it or not, I am trying to save your sorry ass." He straightened back up in his chair. "Now, go to Robbery/Homicide, find Murtaugh, make nicey-nice with him and don't get into trouble." He sighed deeply. "Basically… don't be yourself."

And with that, he grabbed his pen and started scribbling on an open file in front of him and I knew I had been dismissed. Resisting the urge to kick something, I rose to my feet and went out of the office, running right into the waiting figure of Dr. Woods. Looking up, she gave me one of those patronizing smiles that shrinks all seem to have. "Hello, Sergeant Riggs. How have you been doing?"

I didn't bother even trying to return the smile. "I'm peachy, Doctor, just peachy." My eyes shifted down to the file she was carrying, but she quickly pressed it up close to her chest, her expression tightening. "Well, my door is always open, Sergeant, if you ever want to talk about anything… anything at all."

Turning on my heel, I walked past her without comment and headed back to my division to gather up my stuff. It would be a cold day in hell before she ever saw me darken her door. I'd rather eat the bullet.

_**December 16; 9:01am**_

I am not a man that is quick to anger. Despite the stress of my job as a homicide detective, I've managed to maintain an even keel on my emotions in most situations – a fact that I am quite proud of. But even men like myself have a breaking point, and I've reached it. Blood still boiling, I paced back and forth in the hallway down at Parker Center, waiting impatiently for Captain Murphy to grace me with an audience.

"Hey, Sarg… Murphy can see ya now." I looked up from where I had been staring at the floor to see Detective Jennings standing nearby. He hooked a thumb over his shoulder. "I'd hurry if I were you; he's about to head out for a meeting with the Chief."

Just perfect, I muttered under my breath. A meeting with the Chief was usually not something that put Murphy in a good mood, which meant he probably wouldn't be at all happy to hear what I had to talk about. Well, that's just too bad, I thought to myself as I walked into the small office. I was going to say what needed to be said.

Murphy was still on the phone, but he quickly glanced up, motioning for me to come in. A brief look flickered in his eyes and I could see that he knew why I was there. And I could also tell he didn't care. Hanging up the phone, he immediately held one hand out, palm facing me in a shushing gesture. "Murtaugh, I don't want to hear it."

"Well, that's too bad, Captain," I said in a hard voice, "because we_ ARE_ going to talk and right now."

Murphy looked startled by my unusual display of insubordination. After another long beat, he sighed heavily and waved his hand. "Sit down, Roger."

Shutting the door behind me, I took the chair across from Murphy and launched immediately into my tirade. "Look Captain, it's bad enough that I have to babysit a cop from Narco who doesn't have a clue on how to work a murder investigation, but then on top of that, you're gonna saddle me with – with _HIM_?" By this point, Martin Riggs's reputation within the LAPD was well established – and it wasn't a pretty one. I couldn't say that I actually knew a thing about the man… except for the fact that he seemed to draw firefights to him like honey drew flies and quite frankly that was everything I needed to know. After all the hard work that I had invested in my career, I had no plans to get caught in his cross-hairs.

Shuffling through the paperwork on his desk, the captain just made an aggravated noise deep in his throat. "I'm sure he will be an asset on your case. Riggs is a very gifted detective – the best in his division."

"Really? The best at what? Pissing everyone off?" I shifted in my seat, both my ass and my pride still hurting from the smack down that Riggs had delivered to me in the middle of the squad room. I saw the edges of Murphy's mouth turn inward in a sorry attempt to hide his smile and I knew that somehow he had already heard about what happened. How nice to know I could provide the day's entertainment for everybody. His eyes suddenly turning serious, Captain Murphy pulled a file out of the pile and handed it over for me to take. A deep scowl still etched across my face, I opened it up to see that it contained Riggs's jacket. I started glancing through it. Despite his problems, even I had to admit he was obviously talented – considering how quickly he moved up through the ranks from rookie patrol officer to Narcotics detective. And although there were a lot of reprimands, they were balanced out by a hell of a lot of commendations too. "Hmm… ex-military…" I murmured in surprise as I leafed through the papers.

"See," Captain Murphy said with a big smile, "you already have something in common."

I just grumbled again. Normally Murphy's statement would be true. As an old Army grunt, yeah, I usually did feel some type of affinity for others who served, but somehow, I had the feeling that that just wasn't going to be the case this time. Again though, I had to admit his military record was stellar with another quick move up the ranks, having been snatched up by Special Forces almost immediately. My eyes narrowed slightly as my finger stopped at a spot. Phoenix Project. I had already been a civilian for quite a while by the time the operation had been initiated, but I still knew about it. Well, at least the rumors that floated around. Knowing the little that I did, I certainly wasn't surprised to see much of his years of service from '69 through '73, when the program was terminated, classified. However, the remainder of his career until he left at the end of '78 was a blank as well. That could only been one thing – that Riggs had continued his association with the CIA after Phoenix – a fact that made an extremely uneasy feeling settle deep in my gut.

"What's a guy with this kind of background doing working in Narcotics anyway?"

Captain Murphy just shrugged his shoulders. "Who knows? Maybe he was ready to stay stateside. All I know is he was honorably discharged."

Closing the file, I slid it back over to Murphy. If he had hoped that showing this to me would make me feel better about this assignment, he was very wrong. In fact I felt more apprehension than ever. I gave another shake of my head. "I don't want to work with him. Why do I have to have a dope cop come along for the ride anyway? He doesn't want to be here anymore than I want him here." Maybe if I could convince Murphy how idiotic this whole special project was, I could get out of this. But the captain just gave me that big grin, that grin I hated because it usually spelled nothing but trouble for me. Shrugging his broad shoulders again, his hands splayed out.

"LAPD needs to be one big happy family. This is a special assignment straight from the top and we are going to do our part to foster open lines of communication between Narcotics and Homicide. Who better to do that, than the two best detectives in those divisions?"

"Uh, uh," I murmured, the words _BULLSHIT _screaming in my brain. "I still find it strange that he was the one picked to head this up with me." I stared at Murphy intently. "I heard he's right on the edge of being bounced out on psych disability."

The grin that was on the captain's face quickly slid into a hard frown as he met my stare with his own. "Really? And who told you that?"

"Well…" I shifted in my chair awkwardly. Burke's name had been at the tip of my tongue but the look on Murphy's face caused me to quickly bite it back. "…oh, ya know… just squad room scuttlebutt."

"Hmmm…. squad room scuttlebutt, eh?" Murphy's fingers drummed rapidly on top of Riggs's file as he continued to stare me down. "Here's an idea. Don't listen to gossip and just watch the man do his job." He gave a tight smile. "And you just let me know if he needs to be slapped with a 5150." His eyes held a sarcastic expression but at the same time there was a sincerity underlining his voice.

"So I was right," I said with a sigh. "I AM a babysitter."

"No, Murtaugh, you are a police detective. So I suggest you get out of my office, go get your new partner and start doing some fucking work." Murphy paused for a moment, staring at me as if he had something else to say but was unsure about continuing. He finally gave a shake of his head. "Look, I know Riggs is unorthodox at best, but I wasn't kidding when I said he is one of the best. He's just had… some personal setbacks. I'd rather keep him on if I can." The captain fixed me with a hard stare. "So, just work with him and tell me how it goes." He glanced at his watch. "Now, get out of my office. You two should have started half an hour ago."

_**December 16; 9:43am**_

I sat back at the edge of the desk, watching the other detectives milling about the squad room. They were making a point of avoiding me but I could still catch them throwing furtive sidelong glances in my direction. I just glared back as I tucked a fresh cigarette into the corner of my mouth. Fucking homicide detectives…. They seem to think they are the cream of the crop for reasons I cannot fathom. I mean, what exactly is so special about what they do? They are called into a case once there is a dead body… how exciting…

I'd love to see just one of these shit-heads working in my division – busting into heavily armed crack houses, working undercover for weeks on end, living among the bottom-feeders without any backup, conducting covert drug deals with a semi-automatic pressed into your back the whole time… I almost laughed at the thought of it. My smoke finished, I flicked the crushed butt into a nearby trashcan then glanced at my watch. Nearly an hour had passed since I had shown up here to meet Murtaugh – a wasted hour of my life that I could have spent finishing the set-up on that drug deal I had been working for months. But no, the upper brass thought – _THIS –_ would be a better use of my time. Idiots… Already bored out of my mind, I started fiddling with the rubber band again, waiting for Murtaugh to reappear. I knew, of course, that he had gone straight to Captain Murphy's office to complain about me – so much for making nicey-nice. But, shit… just out of the blue, coming after me like that, what did he expect? It wasn't like I knew who he was. All I knew was that some bozo was trying to take me down and I can't help it if my training and survival reflexes kick automatically into gear, now can I?

Thinking back onto my conversation with the captain earlier this morning, I wondered briefly if maybe this would be the final straw for Murphy, but then quickly dismissed the thought. Nah…. At worse all they'll do is drop me from this ridiculous assignment and send me back to Narcotics – something that I would consider a good thing. In fact, I was fervently hoping that Murtaugh could somehow convince the captain to do that exact thing. Even on a good day, I didn't have the patience for this type of bullshit – and I rarely had good days anymore.

I looked up at the sound of rapidly approaching footsteps to see Murtaugh heading back into the squad room. The look on his face made me groan inwardly. That was not the look of a man who had managed to get either of us extricated from this shit detail.Stomping by me, he barely paused as he looked over in my direction. "I just have a few things to get together at my desk and we can get going."

Sighing, I rose to my feet, grabbed my knapsack from the floor and threw it over my shoulder. Instead of following Murtaugh to his desk, I moved over to the exit and leaning against the door jam, lit a cigarette and waited for my crappy day to get worse.


	3. Chapter 3

_**December 16; 10:03am**_

Riggs gave one last poisonous glare over the top of the vehicle before jerking open the door. A deep frown still firmly in place, he threw his knapsack into the back of my car and then sat down in the passenger seat. _Well, this assignment is off to a great start… _I sighed softly_. Early retirement was looking better and better these days … _I slid behind the steering wheel and looked over at Riggs as I jammed the key into the ignition. "God hates me, that's what it is."

Turning around, he stared at me, eyes narrowing. "Hate him back. It works for me."

My statement had been more of a joke than anything but there was no doubt in my mind that Riggs was deadly serious. Between the absolute fury etched in his expression and the cigarette smoke streaming from his nostrils, the man reminded me of nothing short of the devil. Not knowing what else to say, I just started the car and pulled out.

_**December 16; 10:45am**_

Stuck in a traffic jam as usual. Driving in Los Angeles sucked. It had been over forty minutes since we had left the police parking garage and we hadn't exchanged one word as we crept along with the rest of the traffic.

Although Riggs knew I had no desire to work with him; just as he had no desire to be pulled out of Narcotics, the fact of the matter was – we still had a job to do. And since despite all his problems, Riggs was considered an excellent cop, there certainly was no point in letting those talents go to waste. I looked over at him. "So, do you have any immediate thoughts on the case?"

"The case?" He threw his hands up into the air. "I don't even know what the case is… except for the fact that I'm sitting with a homicide detective – so my razor-sharp cop instincts are telling me there must be a dead body involved."

I managed to bite back my response, but my hands tightened around the steering wheel none the less. Taking in a deep breath, I asked. "So they didn't tell you anything?"

"No, I didn't even know about this shit until this morning."

"Well that makes two of us." I regarded him steadily for a moment as I wondered how Captain Murphy had explained the situation to him. He wasn't a stupid guy - surely he had to know he was well on the way to being shitcanned due to his ever increasing erratic behavior. Or did he really believe the BS about this all being some kind of special interdepartmental project? Either way, I figured I needed to tread lightly. I gave a jerk of my head. "The paperwork's on the back seat. No time like the present to get started."

"Sure why not. Who knows … we might actually end up accomplishing something." Twisting in the seat, Riggs reached back, grabbed the file and started reading without another word. We were still working our way towards our destination when he tossed the file over one shoulder onto the back seat and proceeded to stare out the window once again. I waited patiently, assuming he was gathering his thoughts on the case but after another fifteen minutes passed, which consisted of him doing nothing more than lighting yet another damn cigarette, I realized he wasn't planning on saying anything. Sighing under my breath, I found myself once again offering up a quick prayer of thanks that at least this was only a temporary assignment. I opened my mouth, about to explain to Riggs where we were going, but on second thought, decided to keep the information to myself. He'd find out soon enough and besides if he didn't care enough to at least feign some interest or ask even a single question about the case, I wasn't going to waste my time going over the details. Looked like I was going to be working the case with a 165lb dead weight around my neck. Happy 50th birthday to me.

Shifting my eyes momentarily from the ensnarled traffic, I gave Riggs another look over. I really couldn't quite figure out what is was, but there was something about him that raised all kinds of alarm bells with me. At first, I felt bad about it… after all, as a black man on the force, I was well aware of others prejudging me and it certainly was something I tried to avoid - especially among my own fellow officers. But the fact that Riggs was now chained to my side for this investigation caused my own sense of self-preservation to come front and center. And besides, it wasn't the fact that I personally thought the man looked like a bum, or that he was white, or that he hadn't even bothered to shave or brush his hair before showing up for duty or that his breath smelled like he'd gargled that morning with a fifth of Jack Daniels … no it was something else. Focusing my attention back to the road, my fingers drummed along the steering wheel - an ingrained habit of mine while deep in thought. Perhaps a new approach to the situation was needed. A more personal touch. Clearing my throat, I gave a smile. "So… you like it over in Narcotics?"

"Yeah." Riggs didn't bother looking in my direction but kept his gaze focused outside the window. "Undercover work suits me."

Considering that he looked like he hadn't taken a bath in a couple of days, his comment seemed an understatement. But instead of making any further observations about his appearance, I just gave another smile. "I don't envy you … undercover work like that … I think my wife would shoot me." I gave a sympathetic shake of my head. "That's gotta be really tough on a marriage."

Turning his head around, Riggs glowered at me for a very long moment, his blue eyes narrowed into slits. "Well, I guess it depends on the marriage," he finally replied icily. "We do just fine."

"Oh, hey, I wasn't suggesting otherwise, really." All things considered, I knew I shouldn't have been surprised by the hostility in his voice, but the level of venom still threw me. It was probably an exercise in futility, but I plunged forward. "So … do you and your wife have any kids?"

Riggs turned the direction of his glare back out the window. "No."

Although his answer had consisted of only one curt syllable, the tone of Riggs' voice left no doubt that I shouldn't pursue the line of questioning any further - unless I wanted to risk personal injury. So much for the personal touch … After another long bout of silence, I decided to give one last attempt at breaking the ice. "I'm an Army man myself too."

"Yeah?" Riggs looked back over at me, his angry expression now smoothed over although his blue eyes were still arctic cold. He stared for a long moment, openly appraising me before asking, "Vietnam?"

I nodded. "Before your time. I was there for a bit in the beginning of '65. Just before I got out."

"Oh."

I could see that he was already losing interest in the conversation, so I quickly added, "So then … You were Special Forces, huh?" I forced a slight chuckle. " What did you specialize in?"

"Killing," Riggs said dryly as he turned away and once again it was the end of the conversation.|

_**December 16; 11:20am**_

Just as I had predicted, of course, my day had indeed gone from crappy to total shit. Damn it, why did I always have to be right? I could handle being pulled from Dope - I wasn't happy about it - but I could handle it. It was just a temporary assignment after all, and I've had to work with partners before in the past. Never for an extended time as Murphy had the good sense to see I worked best alone rather than with a partner - especially a partner who apparently wasn't even going to let me do any work. By the look in Murtaugh's eyes, I knew that I was coming across as a threat so I decided to uncurl my fists and shove both hands into the pockets of my jacket. Took a deep breath. "Hey look here, I may not be a Homicide detective but I still know how to conduct a damn interview." I had tried to remain calm when Murtaugh told me that he wanted to talk with Michael Hunsacker alone, but his statement had immediately set my blood boiling.

"Hey, take it easy." Roger held his hands out, palms facing me. "That's not what I'm saying." He sighed. "It's just … it's just that I know him."

"You know him?"

"Yeah. I haven't seen him in a long time, but yeah, I know him. I just want to tell him the news myself. That's all."

I stared at Roger a long moment, trying to access whether he was just bullshitting me in an effort to avoid any further confrontation, but then finally decided he was telling the truth. The vic's dad was some old friend - fine, let him talk to him. I shrugged. "Okay." We both got out of his car as I suddenly gestured to my bag in the backseat. "Just need to get some more cigarettes. You go ahead." He frowned at me, his brows knitting together into a cautious line but then finally he nodded and headed into the bank building alone. I watched him for a moment to make sure he wasn't turning around then opened the car door. Rummaging around in the bag, I pulled out the flask that I kept in there, twisted it open and took a drink. Not that I needed an excuse but if ever there was a day for drinking on the job, this was it. I always switched over to vodka during work since the odor wasn't as noticeable and despite my behavior, I wasn't looking to get kicked off the force, just killed in the line of duty … big difference. I took another swig and then tossed the flask back inside the bag. Pulled out a new pack of smokes. Hey, I wasn't completely lying at least. Tucking one in my mouth, I lit it and followed after my partner into the bank.

The moment I stepped inside, it was obvious that Roger had already told Hunsacker about his daughter's death. The man was slumped over his desk, crying quietly, one hand clutching a framed photo. Suddenly feeling uncomfortable, I hung back even further into the lobby, doing my best to impassively observe the man's response as any good detective should but at the same time, trying to give them a bit of privacy - both for their benefit and mine. Despite my best efforts, I could feel my chest tighten at the sounds of the man's sobs and I looked away. Usually other people always figured the hardest part of being a cop was either the constant worry of physical danger or having to see dead bodies on a regular basis, but they would be wrong. That wasn't the hardest part of the job - at least not to me. Physical danger was more of an adrenaline rush than anything and I'd been dealing with dead bodies for so long that - good or bad -they rarely made an impact on me anymore. No ... to me there was nothing worse than what Roger was having to do right then. Having to tell someone that the person they loved was never coming home again. Having to sit there quietly, watching as the initial shock of the surviving family member gave way to waves of grief so large and overpowering that they threatened to sweep you up in it as well … watching in uncomfortable silence, helpless to do anything but to finally say, _"I'm so sorry for your loss." _… I had always known that they were hollow meaningless words but until I had to hear them directed to me, I hadn't realized just how infuriating they truly were.

One of my hands instinctively reached down into my jeans pocket and I sighed with relief as my fingertips brushed against the hollow point bullet that I always carried with me… Still there… it was reassuring… its solid presence and the meaning behind it gave me one of the few comforts that I had left, a comfort someone like Roger Murtaugh couldn't possibly understand.

I had started carrying the bullet four months after Vicky had died and I'd only just been back on the force for a short while. Even though Murphy had been willing to bring me back on, Doctor Woods had managed to convince the department to force a personal leave of eight weeks and even then my return had been contingent upon an evaluation by her. I wasn't surprised, considering that she had been wary of me from the time that I had joined the police force but despite her best efforts to railroad me, I managed to pass and get back on duty. Since I had been gone for two months, my cases had long been transferred over to other detectives but Murphy was able to quickly get me assigned to a new task force and I dove back into my undercover work with a vengeance.

We were a tight efficient team and had managed to bust down a large drug ring and several major crack houses in a short amount of time. It was at one of the crack houses that we found a massive cache of weapons including the hollow point bullets. It really wasn't a conscious decision - in fact I didn't even remember putting the lone bullet in my pocket. But when I found it in my jeans two days later, I knew without hesitation that that was where it belonged and why it was there. It wasn't until about six months later that I actually put the bullet into my Beretta and really contemplated suicide. Now it was a weekly ritual of mine - this dance I did, trying to work up the nerve to pull the trigger. I knew that this fact alone made me crazy, but none of that really mattered to me. The time was coming … I could feel it. Some unfathomable something always kept me from pulling the trigger but with each passing day, my strong sense of self-preservation eroded more and more. Soon enough there would be nothing left. And when that day came, I knew not even the job would be enough.

Suddenly Hunsaker's voice rose high, stirring me out of my private thoughts. I watched in silence as he grabbed onto his old friend's arm, urging him to kill the people responsible for his daughter's death. Roger spoke with him a moment, his voice low and then he crossed the lobby, heading back in my direction. Now I understood Hunsaker's anger - I know how it can overwhelm you to the point of no longer being able to think rationally, unable to focus on anything other than your pain but yet, at the same time, something seemed off. For the immediate moment, I couldn't put my finger on it, but there was an underlining desperation to the man's tone that spoke of something that didn't have to do with Amanda's death … something he wasn't voicing and I could tell by the look on Murtaugh's face that something was bothering him about it as well. The older detective did nothing more than glance over in my direction as he walked towards the exit. I gave one last look at Hunsaker, hunched back over his desk, his head in his hands and then followed Murtaugh out. Whatever was bothering my new partner, it didn't look like he was going to share it … Oh well, fine by me… I was way beyond giving two shits about it. Instead of discussing the situation any further, we headed for the car.


	4. Chapter 4

_**December 16; 12:47pm**_

Impulsiveness … good or bad, it had always been a prominent character trait of mine. There were plenty of times when it certainly worked to my advantage, other times… maybe not so much. Vicky used to say that one day it would be the death of me and although her voice was always teasing, I knew deep down it did cause her to worry. And now as I found myself plummeting through the smoggy skies of Los Angeles, I wondered if maybe she was right. The thought was brief though as I continued my descent; I could see that the firefighters had managed to get the safety bag in place; not that that actually insured one's safety. When you are falling from ten stories up, there are still a lot of factors that can come into play. If the bag isn't fully inflated, it does about as much good as landing on a wet tissue. I've also seen jumpers land too close to the edge, bounce back up in the air and splat on the sidewalk half a block away. Or if your luck really sucks ass, you can just miss the whole damn thing, in which case they have to use a spatula to load you into the body bag. At this point, there's nothing I can do except try my best to control the jump so that we land square in the middle. Not an easy task with this idiot attached to my wrist, twisting every which way and screaming his fool head off.

For a guy that was so eager to kill himself only a minute ago, he doesn't seem to be too delighted with the way this has all turned out. I tell ya, there's just no pleasing some people …

_**December 16; 12:47pm**_

Oh, my God … shit, shit, shit … if that crazy bastard doesn't end up dead, I'm going to kill him myself.

_**December 16; 1:22pm**_

Unbelievable. I always knew that Captain Murphy, like any captain in the LAPD, was a son-of-a-bitch, but up until this point I had no idea that he hated me this much. However, I could come to no other conclusion as I silently watched my new partner devour a double cheeseburger and large fries. No more than twenty five minutes ago the man had thrown himself from a ten story building and then followed up that little stunt by trying to put a bullet in his head right in front of me - and now, here he sat, serenely eating a burger as if all of the proceeding events were nothing more than an ordinary day for him. In fact, his expression was remarkably tranquil, his body relaxed. The only hint that there may have been any lingering tension was the brisk jiggling of his right leg, bouncing up and down non-stop … but then for all I knew, at that point, he was just dancing along to the voices in his head. His behavior and rapid fire mood changes were at best bipolar - at worst … I shuddered to think about it. At least I had definitely answered the question everyone in the precinct was taking bets on - whether Riggs was sincere in his suicidal attitude or just pretending. No question, the man was as serious as a heart attack. And now it had become my duty to pass the information along to the higher ups. It wasn't something that I wanted to do but what other choice did I have? After all, I knew that that was the real reason Murphy had thrown us together - for me to keep an eye on this lunatic and let them know what was really going on.

I took a sip of my soda - God knows, I didn't have the stomach to eat anything - and pondered my next move. Like any police officer worth his stripes, I had a deep and abiding dislike for the police psychologist. They certainly had no true idea of what it takes to be on the streets and no matter how many fancy degrees they had nailed to their office walls, they never would. Much like being in combat, unless someone has actually experienced the situations cops can find themselves in, I don't think a person can do much judging… besides I had a sneaking suspicion that the psychologists believed everyone in the Department was touched in the head. No doubt, a very true statement when it came to a certain Martin Riggs, but as for me personally, the thought was rather insulting.

Unfortunately my only recourse was looking to be the department quack, even if they were just one level up from Internal Affairs; which obviously wasn't saying much. The psychologists managed to beat out IA simply by the fact that they weren't cops. At least when they ratted you out, it wasn't being done by a fellow police officer. My stomach did another roll at the thought of having to turn on a brother in blue. Us cops tended to stick together no matter what was going on - looking out for one another was just part of our defense mechanism - there's no white, there's no black - only blue. Because of this, there was an unwritten code of ethics that we held to very strictly in these matters, but as loath as I was to break it, I couldn't see any other way out of this mess. I mean how was I supposed to feel about this guy? His eyes seemed to hold only two expressions – a total unadulterated rage so intense I feared for my life and a vacuous thousand yard stare that looked right through me as if I wasn't even there. I thought briefly about trying to get in touch with Riggs's wife instead, but quickly dismissed the idea. Dealing with a family member would be touchy, and most likely pointless. Spouses usually saw what they wanted to see and I had no reason to imagine it would be any different with her.

My mind suddenly flashed back to the look that had been on Riggs's face earlier when he had pulled the trigger and that image helped me to steel my resolve. No … no way, no how, was I going to let this nut job bring me down with him. I suddenly stood up, one hand making an impatient gesture. "Let's go."

My tone of voice had come out much more abrupt and sharper than I had intended; however, if it bothered Riggs, he didn't show it. Instead he just stared at me for a long moment through half-lidded eyes, then balled up the burger wrapper, pitching it in the air and into the nearby trashcan. "Right-o, bossman," he said blandly.

"Uh, right … Well, we just have a lot of work to do on this case."

"No problem." Riggs's face was unreadable. "I'm just gonna get some more fries to go." He jerked a thumb towards the fast food order counter. "I didn't have any breakfast this morning."

"Yeah, except for the liquid kind," I muttered under my breath as he turned away. My comment obviously reached his ears despite my low volume, because he stopped in mid-stride and turned back around to face me, his eyes like daggers.

"What was that?"

"Uh … nothing." Giving a shrug, I did my best to smooth out my grumpy expression. No need to push some trigger point and end up with Riggs's boot on my neck again. Once was quite enough. Instead I needed to avoid any possible confrontations and figure out some way to get a moment to myself so I could call Dr. Woods, neither of which were going to be an easy undertaking. Irritated, I stomped back to the car in silence, trying to formulate my game plan as Riggs came up from behind, humming aimlessly and off-tune to himself, greasy fast food bag in hand.

_**December 16; 2:43pm**_

All things considered, I guess I shouldn't have been surprised that my day was ending with a corpse. I watched in angry resignation as the uniformed cop and one of the coroner's assistants wrestled with the heavy wet body of the deceased drug dealer, finally managing to extricate him from the pool cover and depositing him on the concrete deck with a most undignified thump - but then it had been my experience that there were few dignified deaths. Indeed, death was the great equalizer - drug dealer or saint, we all just became nothing more than a bag of meat and bones at that point. "Well," the assistant muttered as the two men climbed out of the water, "I guess whatever damage the shots to his chest didn't create as a cause of death, the drowning took care of…"

"Shut up, Behrman," I growled, one hand rubbing against my forehead as I felt fury building back up again. The assistant stared at me, his expression twisting up into a look of apprehension. I may not have been a trigger happy nut job like my new partner, but I was still an imposing broad shouldered 6'4'' black man and I wasn't above using it to my advantage when the situation warranted.

Coming up behind me, Dr. Hernandez laid a warning hand on the young assistant's arm. "No need for additional commentary, Todd," he said with a smile and a nod in my direction. "Let's just tag and bag him, shall we?"

"Yes sir."

The younger man went to work as Hernandez gave me a sympathetic pat on the back. "Looks like you've had quite a day," he added as his eyes swept over me, taking in my unusual appearance. I always carried a quick change of clothes in the trunk of my car for emergencies, but the rather wrinkled sweats I was currently being forced to wear - thanks to a now soaking wet business suit - were far removed from my usual professional attire.

"Believe me, you don't know the half of it," I grumbled.

"Unfortunately, I'm afraid it's about to get worse."

Turning around to follow Hernandez's gaze, I saw members of the Shooting Investigation Team making their way up the long driveway towards the location of the pool. Somehow, I managed to bite back my initial response and just gave a nod of my head. Having to go through the intense questioning of S.I.T. and the mounds of paperwork to be filled out were just some of the reasons I always tried my best to avoid discharging my sidearm. Luckily I wasn't the one who fired the kill shot, but I knew that I was still in for a long afternoon. The team split up, two of them heading towards me and the other two towards my partner. Riggs was leaning casually against the outside wall of the nearby pool house, one foot propped up, ever present cigarette dangling from his mouth. Not one word had been exchanged between the two of us since we had gotten out of the pool. Riggs had gone to radio in the incident and afterwards at least had had the good sense to stay clear of me - which resulted in his current location over by the pool house while I had positioned myself in a nearby deck chair on the other side; waiting for the cleanup crew and cursing under my breath as I watched the blood slowly spread through the water.

Riggs's eyes cut over to me briefly but his expression remained coolly impassive as he returned the hard stare in the direction of the approaching detectives. Whatever thoughts were running through his mind, I couldn't even begin to guess. And before I had any time to reflect on it any further, the other members of the team stepped in front of me, notebooks already pulled out and at the ready.

"Sergeant Murtaugh, we're ready to take your account of the shooting." One of the men motioned to the nearby deck table. "Let's take a seat over here and you can tell us what happened."

"Right." I moved over to the table and sat down, the S.I.T. detectives joining me. My gaze went over one shoulder, watching as Riggs flicked his cigarette into the water and then disappeared into the pool house with the other investigators, never giving another look in my direction. Spreading my hands across the table top, I started.

_**December 16; 7:22pm**_

By the time we were finished, the sun had gone down and my stomach was growling so fiercely, I was ready to eat anything Trish was preparing - even that god awful fish she had planned. Truly one of the worst things on our rotation of meals.

"Well Sergeant, that should do it. We'll be in touch for anything else we may need."

I looked up at the detective, yawning widely as I gave a nod. "Okay." I paused briefly and gave voice to the thought at the forefront of my mind. "So … should I be expecting another new partner?" My tone was light but the question was serious.

The man just gave a shrug of his shoulders, the blank expression he had worn through our entire interview remaining unchanged. "I can't say anything until I get together with the other team members and we corroborate facts, go back over the shooting scene, have all the physical evidence checked out … you know how this works." He paused for a moment. "But as for Riggs …" he shook his head as he glanced at the other man standing next to him, "… I don't know how he does it."

"What do you mean?"

"He's had more gunfights than Wild Bill Hickock but still manages to stay with the department." He rubbed one hand across his chin, a slow grin coming across his face. "Of course, I imagine it's all a moot point this time anyhow."

"Really, how so?"

"From all accounts, this looks like it was a righteous shoot. Riggs pulled your bacon out of the fire." The smile widened. "In other words, he saved your ass. Who knows … probably get another commendation."

I watched in silence as the two men left without another word. They met up with the other team members down by the pool house and then headed up the driveway. Shit … the crazy bastard had saved my life. I had been so angry about the whole incident, so focused on how I knew Riggs was going to get me killed before the day was over, I had completely overlooked the fact that the opposite had actually occurred. My stomach did a sudden flip-flop - the way it always does after the adrenaline is gone and the gravity of the situation finally has time to sink in. If it hadn't been for Riggs, Trish very well could have been widowed, my children left fatherless … I looked back over at the pool house but Riggs still had yet to emerge. Slowly taking in a calming breath, I began walking in that direction. I owed him … Now what was I going to do?


End file.
